


SAFETY CHECK

by goodnightfern



Series: WETWORK 2018 [3]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Gen, minimal wordcount, mood piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:56:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnightfern/pseuds/goodnightfern
Summary: Drift, and dissolve.As it appeared in the Quiet zine, WETWORK.





	SAFETY CHECK

So what if you're already dead? Ghosts have a hundred eyes and move unseen and frankly, you were never this good alive. They already know the wind speed, the distance to the target - the shot’s lined up before you're even conscious of it. Boom, headshot.

The other ghost throws you a two-fingered salute. You give him a thumbs-up. Ghosts don't talk much, either. Not like you two have much to moan and groan about in the afterlife. Heaven is real and it’s the white hot sunlight reflecting off the walls of Da Smasei Laman. Glinting off the rough diamond in his hands, while you grow and spread til you think you could swallow all of Afghanistan - the whole damn world, maybe.

Not quite there yet. But you can jump higher today. Higher still, until you're wheeling over fresh kills along with the vultures and the other ghost is only a speck.

Better bring it on in for a moment. You should be occupying that empty space he’s stuck on. No worries, you’re right here. There’s two wolves beyond those dunes you won’t tell him about, but he’s got a scorpion to show you.

You don’t ride in the car. He eats your dust while you find out just how fast the speed of sound is. In the river you pause and remember how to go with the flow. Sway in the current. Just float right there, giving them time to swell and divide. The one that covers meets a catfish and you gasp, splashing, when the nitrogen kicks in.

When he finally catches up he’s casting his scope all over the place. You wait for him to finally land on you, for him to hesitate like he’s surprised. Like there’s anywhere you could go than exactly where he needs you to be. The green line of your laser sight soothes him. You’re right here.

You churn upstream and emerge like something from an old movie you’ve forgotten to perch over Yakho Oboo. Look down at him, at the guards in all four towers, at the cliffs beyond where a vulture cocks its head at you. Maybe you were just flying around with it. Maybe you ate the mites on its feathers. Maybe you’re the vulture now, wondering what a naked corpse is doing in your territory.

No. You’re not.

You’re right here.

You bend to your scope and line up the shot.

 

* * *

 

 


End file.
